“And Mr. Throme is also a well-known war hero and jet pilot,” Phyl added.
Bud stopped short, his jaw dropping open as he suddenly remembered various magazine accounts he had read about “Ort” Throme and his Marine fighter squadron.
“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Throme,” he said, thrusting out his hand. “Guess I acted too fast,”
“Pretty powerful left hook you throw.” The ace chuckled, shaking hands.
“Can’t blame you for being suspicious. I guess I shouldn’t have been AROUSED SUSPICIONS 41
conning the Citadel with binoculars. Call me Ort, by the way.”
“I’m Bud Barclay,” Bud replied. “This is Sandy Swift and Phyllis Newton.”
The introductions were cut short as Sandy gasped in dismay. “My ruby ring!
It’s-gone!”
The ring, a bit too large, had evidently slipped off her finger as she attempted to stop the fight. Bud’s face flamed with embarrassment when he discovered the ring under his foot-the metal band badly bent.
Ort Throme suggested that the ring could be repaired by a famous jewelry designer in Taos, several miles away. Both Sandy and Phyl were delighted at the idea of visiting the famous art colony. Before the conversation ended, Ort had accepted an invitation to join their picnic.
The next day Bud and the girls persuaded Tom to take an afternoon off from his lab work and drive with them to Taos. The highway wound along the Rio Grande amid rabbit brush and wild flowers. Taos itself proved to be a quaint old Western town nestled at the base of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Some of the huge cotton-woods shading its dusty streets had been there since the days of Kit Carson, its most famous citizen.
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